If you can't Ram it, Dodge it
by Wynefred
Summary: Each chapter is a different outsider POV. Dean meets the town jerk.
1. Chapter 1

Driving through town gave me lots of opportunities to show off my new beauty. This was the first somewhat warm day we've had after several weeks of snowstorms, sending everyone flocking outdoors. I could see the heads of all my neighbors turning to watch my new Badass Black Dodge Ram as I made my way down Main Street to the local hotspot, Jilly's Diner. I waved coolly to a few of my buddies hanging around outside the hardware shop and wolf-whistled at the Miller lady as she slogged down the sidewalk in her tight jeans and red snow boots. _Yeah_, she wants me.

I pulled my new Dodge Ram into the diner parking lot, slamming through patches of slush and ice. I even managed to soak that Thomas kid standing at the corner bus stop. Pleased with myself, I parked my beauty next to an old, worn-out-looking black muscle car covered in mud and muck from the recent nasty weather we've been having. Out-of-state plates, I noticed when I got out and started toward the diner. Geez, that thing looked like an antique. I sneered at the piece of junk as I passed it. Probably driven by some old geezer who could barely see over the steering wheel while he sped down the road at a whopping 20 mph.

Without even thinking about it, I slid in under the side of the awning fronting the place, careful not to hit the support pole, because everyone knows that walking under the front of the slanted awning after a heavy snow means getting hit by run-off as it all thaws. The door jangled as I entered and took a deep sniff of Jilly's home cooking. She might be a stuck-up, frigid bitch, but she could cook up a meatloaf that'd make a grown man cry. Ignoring the "Please wait to be seated" sign at the door, I sauntered toward my usual booth in the corner.

Jilly nodded at me from behind the counter before coming out with a cup of coffee. She set the coffee in front of me with the barest acknowledgment and a mumbled "be right back", then turned to the booth across from me to wait on the pretty boys sitting there.

Pretty boys smiled winningly at her and placed their orders; Sissy Britches chose a salad while Playboy got a burger and a side of fries. As Jilly turned back to me, the dazzling smile she must'ave been flashing those losers fell from her face. I wanted to show those jerks that they weren't the only ones who could work a smile, so I turned on the charm. I should'a known better than to try it with Jilly, though, 'cause she just repeated my order, rapped her pencil against her order pad, and returned to the counter.

Playboy grinned at me, flashing his teeth in a way that made me want to knock them out of his mouth. I growled a threatening "what're you looking at?" at the guy and Sissy Britches interrupted, putting up his hands in apology and mouthing something about how his buddy didn't want any trouble. Playboy just kept grinning at me, even after Jilly came back with our plates.

Seething, I focused my attention on my meal, ignoring the way Jilly's voice lilted and her hips swayed for these two punks. Damn, and I was in such a good mood earlier.

I could hear'em talking about their next job and how next time Playboy should let Sissy Britches do all the talking and plans for a roadtrip or something. What a couple of jackasses.

We ended up paying our bills at the same time and they walked out the door ahead of me, still elbow-deep in their stupid conversation. That's when I saw my chance to really get these punks. Making like it was an accident, I bumped into the awning support pole… just a nudge, really, but that's all it took. That awning wobbled, sending a soggy slab of ice and slush crashing down on top of Playboy's head, causing him to lose his footing and fall on his ass with a muttered "son of a bitch".

Of course, I pretended to be all apologetic, offering the guy a hand to help him up. Dude just glowered at me, told me where to stick it. Suited me just fine. I cackled at him and headed out to my truck. Behind me, I heard Sissy Britches say something about a concussion and broken wrist. Looking back, I saw Sissy Britches helping his buddy up and supporting him as they limped into the parking lot. A trail of blood streamed down the side of Playboy's head and he held one of his arms close to his body like he was afraid to move it. Oh, yeah, I got him good.

I was still laughing as I climbed into my truck. Backing out alongside those two jerks, I let my wheels spin, drenching them in grungy slush before peeling out. Yup, that did wonders for my mood.

I drove back down Main Street to show off my truck again.


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday morning, early. I was sweeping the walk area in front of our small town's only gas station/self-serve car wash, occasionally stopping to lean on my broom and watch my first customer of the morning as he washed down that new black Dodge Ram he was so dang proud of. I couldn't help but shake my head at him. Paul Neil Robertson Junior (folks just called him Paul-Neil) had been coming here since he was a little thing and I was nuthin but a pimply, cocksure teen working my first job. Heh. Little did I know I'd still be here all these years later, and that he'd still be hanging around just like when he was a kid. I kinda think I must be the only person in this entire town who doesn't give a rat's ass who his daddy is, or how much money his family has.

Paul-Neil's always liked to show off his fancy new toys. He couldn'ta been more than eight years old the first time he rode by the GasMart on his hyped-up bigwheel-type rig. As he grew, so did his vehicles. Bicycles, motorized skate boards, scooters, motorcycles, and a variety of trucks and cars. All big, all fancy, all expensive as hell.

I shook my head again and went back to my sweeping. Not much else to do this early in the morning before the town really started to wake up. I expect the morning rush, such as it is, to start any time. Folks tended to stop by here for some fresh coffee and donuts and a fill-up for the weekend before they headed out to wherever they're spending the weekend. Given the recent warm weather, I guessed it'd be camping, picnicking, or some other outdoorsy-type outing. Folks around these parts were tired of being cooped up from the long winter.

Soon after, I heard the growl of a deep-throated old-model engine. Music to my ears. The most remarkable beauty I'd ever seen came down the road and into the GasMart lot. A '67 Impala, if I'd had to guess. In mint condition, too. She coulda used a bit of a wash 'n' wax from driving on the messy roads, but even through the muck her coat shined with a healthy glow. I headed out to meet her as she pulled into the lot near one of the old pumps.

I was having a right pleasant chat with the driver while he filled her up. Seemed like a nice enough guy, though I could see he must've been in an accident or something with sportin' a new-ish looking cast on one wrist and stitches under the hairline over his left temple. So anyway, we were standin' there talkin' it up about the car, how much gas she runs, size of the engine, and all that, when the guy's head whipped up. He got this sly little smile across his face. Then he stuck his head down through the open driver's side window and said something to his buddy, who then unfolded his way out of the car. This guy was tall! They excused themselves and headed over to the washing station.

As they walked away, I heard the buddy tell the driver in a loud whisper not to hurt'im. The driver just responded something about not gonna hurt'im, just wanted to talk to the guy… _nicely_. I grabbed my broom and took up my sweeping again, but kept an eye on things. They seemed like good ol'boys, but the looks on their faces said that just then they weren't feeling all that _friendly_.

They eased up behind where Paul-Neil was still shining up his truck. I could see them get up nice and close on either side of him before the driver said something that sounded like, "Remember me?"

Paul-Neil spun around and spotted the driver standing right next to him. His face did this splotchy pale thing that looked like it couldn't decide whether it wanted to blanch or go beet red. Was kinda funny-looking, really. Paul-Neil gulped, tried to back away from the driver, only to slam into the immovable wall that was the guy's alpine buddy.

I eased closer, trying not to look like I was spying on their conversation. The driver was doing most of the talking, keeping his voice kinda low, and what I could see of his face looked angry and dangerous yet controlled. I could only hear bits and pieces. Sounded like he was talking about shoving that lily-white cast into places a cast should really never go.

And then it happened. A dark spot formed on Paul-Neil's jeans and traveled down his legs. The short-haired driver stepped back in disgust and exclaimed, "Dude! That's just gross. You should really think about getting your prostate checked." I chuckled a bit at that one until my eyes met Paul-Neil's impotent glower, then I couldn't help busting out with a hearty laugh.

As the two fellas turned away and headed back to their car, the buddy nudged the driver and asked if he was satisfied now. The driver just gave him a smirky "Hell yeah".

Since no real harm was done (and Paul-Neil probably deserved that and more for whatever he'd done), I nodded to them as they passed. The driver pulled out his wallet and handed me a couple of bills to cover his tab before shaking my hand, topping off the tank, and easing behind the wheel. With a grin, his buddy folded himself back into the passenger seat.

I smiled as I watched that classic beauty cruise out of my lot and down the street, her engine song fading in the distance. Behind me, I could hear Paul-Neil swearing and cursing as he wiped himself down with the complimentary paper towels. Still chuckling, I went back to sweeping the walk area.


End file.
